


Leave This Blue Neighborhood

by autoeuphoric (FreezingRayne)



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezingRayne/pseuds/autoeuphoric
Summary: “No dames tonight, my friend! Just two fancy-free bachelors on the prowl.” “What are we prowling for,” Mako says, “If not dames?” “You know. Stuff.” Wu nudges his arm. “Danger.” (Wu takes Mako out for a night on the town.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been fiddling with this fic for the last year or so, and I finally gained the inspiration to get it done. I honestly think that Wu was the best thing that could have happened to Mako's character. They aren't _strictly_ canon like Korra and Asami, but I like to think it could happen.

When Prince Wu knocks on his door at a quarter past six, Mako is afraid he’s gotten his days mixed up. 

“It’s my day off,” he says with a glance down at his undershirt and shorts. “Don’t tell me Beifong has me on guard detail.” 

“No, no.” Wu spreads placating fingers. “I’m here strictly as a citizen. Capacity unofficial. Besides, I’m a singer now, not a Prince. Who’d want to assassinate me?” 

Someone who’s heard him sing, maybe. Mako keeps that to himself. 

“Whatcha doing?” Wu rocks on his heels in a not-so-subtle-attempt to see into the apartment. “Busy?” 

“Uh…” 

Wu is dressed to go out, in a high-collared grey vest and slacks, shoes polished to a mirror-shine. His cufflinks and buttons are green, and so are the small round jewels in his ears. Stunningly tasteful, for Wu. 

“No,” Mako admits. He’ll probably regret it later. “I’m not busy.” 

Wu waits in the living room while Mako gets dressed, which is really weird and backwards. All he has to do is slip on one of his nicer jackets and a cleanish pair of shoes, and spritz on some cologne. He still has a little of the bottle Asami gave him when they were dating. 

He fluffs his hair with his fingers. He wonders if Asami has given Korra cologne. 

“Are you done yet?” Wu’s voice quivers with excited impatience. 

_Go out_ , Mako’s reflection tells him. _Anything is better than drinking alone and contemplating how extraneous you are._

He straightens his jacket and heads for the foor. “Sure, Mr. ‘I need thirty minutes for my eyebrows alone’.” 

\--

Mako is expecting a car, but Wu just starts down the sidewalk at his usual jaunty pace. Right. No more royalty means no more royal treatment. Wu has to hire his own cars, or drive them. A terrifying prospect. Wu is probably a worse driver than Korra. 

“Where are we headed?” Mako tries to work up a little enthusiasm. It’s a nice evening, warm and clear, wind coming in from the bay to blow off the worst of the city’s smog. “Cruising for dames?” he half jokes, as they pass a group of Fire Nation girls outside a hat shop. He smiles at them, and a few even smile back. 

“No dames tonight, my friend! Just two fancy-free bachelors on the prowl.” 

“What are we prowling for,” Mako says, “If not dames?” 

"You know. Stuff.” Wu nudges his arm. “Danger.” 

“Danger? I would think you’d had enough of that.” He inserts a couple feet between them. It’s one thing to have Wu hanging all over him when he’s on-duty. No need for that now. 

“Not danger danger,” Wu says. “Not, _oh no, the triads have kidnapped me and are twisting my thumbs off danger_.” He wriggles his thumbs at Mako. “Just...single guy danger.” 

Mako groans. “I really hope you don’t mean what I think you mean.” 

“You are still single...right?” Wu asks. 

“Yeah,” Mako says. “I’m still single.” 

What with the Future Industries logo on every other building and the Satomobiles crowding the street, that’s impossible to forget. And there are whole blocks that Mako knows would not even exist anymore if it hadn’t been for Korra. Most likely the city wouldn’t exist anymore if it hadn’t been for Korra. He doesn’t begrudge his exes their success, but it does make it difficult to put them out of his mind. 

Even Bolin had made sure to remind Mako of his girlfriend-less status, calling up and babbling about the Beifongs and Opal, and how cool it is to feel like he’s part of a big family. Not that he and Opal are married, or anything. Or even thinking about it. 

God, Mako hopes they’re not thinking about it. 

\--

They end up in a noodle shop on the seedier side of the docks, two blocks up from the probending arena. Funny that Mako now thinks of a place like this as seedy, when a few years earlier he wouldn’t have even been able to afford a plate of dumplings. And now he’s sitting across from royalty. Well, former royalty. 

Wu’s vibrant enthusiasm hasn’t wilted; he doesn’t even baulk at the scratchy wooden benches or stained tabletop. Excited about slumming, probably. Mako has no idea where he’s been living or what he’s been doing. His clothes are nice, but not royal nice, and a lot of the affected charm has been dropped, leaving just earnest excitement behind.

He...he actually reminds Mako a little of Bolin. 

“So what’s good here?” 

“Why do you think _I’d_ know?” 

Wu shrugs. “You know a lot of things.” 

Mako snorts and slouches to the bar. The owner is an ex-probender with a squint and a bad leg, his arms bright with animal tattoos. Mako is willing to bet they’re the mascots of all the teams he’d beaten in tournaments. 

“What can I get you--.” The owner adds a mocking, “--Sir?” 

Royal-nice or not, Mako and Wu are definitely overdressed for this place. Mako tries to make up for it by letting his accent slip a little, easing into the lazy vowels and soft r’s of Republic City’s streets. “We’ll have two specials and…” He glances at the bottles lined up in the ice box. “Two Badgermole Browns.” Wu will appreciate that. 

The bartender turns to grab Mako’s beers, then double-takes and looks back at him. “Hey, Mako. Hat-Trick Mako!” His hostility drains away. “Haven’t seen you in here for, what, years? How long has it been since you played?” 

“A while.” 

“You--hey, does that mean the Avatar’s here?” He looks out across the restaurant. 

Mako gently extricates his drinks. “She’s out of town.” The back of his neck prickles as he slumps back to the table. 

“You know that guy?” Wu asks when Mako puts a beer in front of him. His eyes are shiny with interest. 

“Sort of. I used to come here a lot.” He sips at his beer, which is dark and warm and so different from the bubbly wines and fruity cocktails they serve at city functions. “A lot of probenders do.” 

“Really?” Wu starts rubbernecking, like a match might start right up in the middle of the shop. 

“Don’t…” Mako grabs Wu’s arm across the table. “Don’t do that, okay? I don’t want anyone else to recognize me.” 

“Oh.” Wu subsides back onto the bench, fingers immediately going to pick at the label on his beer. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” 

Mako shakes his head. “I already ordered, and this place is pretty good.” He’s not so maudlin that he can’t be in a place he used to go with his teammates. He thinks about the bar where he and Bolin used to sit after midnight when they’d been about to close up shop and gave away noodles at half price, where he and Korra used to sit under the window and talk shit about opposing teams. The long table toward the back where that Wolf-Bat asshole would hold court with his gang. 

_The present_. The present isn’t so bad. Even if is straining the limits of reality to think he’s in a Republic City dive with an ex Earth Kingdom prince, spending his night off with one of the most irritating people he’s ever met. 

To be fair to Wu, he is being surprisingly obliging. It almost feels like they’re friends. Then, of course, being Wu, he has to get overly excited about the noodles and stride up to the kitchen to compliment the chef, who fortunately seems flattered rather than annoyed. 

"I’ve eaten in some of the greatest restaurants in Ba Sing Se, and these, my friend, measure up!” 

It occurs to Mako that Wu is charming, especially now, a bit older and less naive, gestures less ostentatious, smiles less flashy. Before, everything had been a possible photo opportunity. Civilian life is good for him. He’s still Wu--still loud and weird and full of boundless energy--but knowing he only has to deal with it for one night and not every minute of his waking life makes Mako go a little easier on him. 

He thinks about that after dinner, as they drift further down toward the docks, ending up in a bar this time, this one dark and crowded and smoky. Mako thinks he can detect the sweet, soporific spice of opium beneath the tobacco. He’s not on duty, but he could probably call it in and get the place shut down. He glances at Wu, his cheeks flushed from the beer, standing on his toes to see over the heads of the crowd, and decides he doesn’t feel like it. No good for the kid’s first descent into Republic City’s underbelly to end in a police raid. 

They sit in a booth lined with velvet drapes heavy with dust, and are brought drinks without having to order them. _So someone has recognized Prince Wu_ , Mako thinks, but then the waitress winks at him, and he realizes, no, they recognized him. He’s not sure whether it’s Mako the probender they’re trying to cozy up to, or Mako the cop. Either way, Mako eyes the brandy suspiciously. 

Wu has no qualms and no survival instincts; he’s already broken into his. He also doesn’t know how to drink. 

“Whoa, slow down.” He grabs Wu’s hand, a bit of brandy spilling down his chin and onto Mako’s fingers. Wu squeaks a little. 

“Hey!” He licks the brandy off Mako’s thumb, then appears to realize what he’s done. His cheeks go pink, and now they’re both laughing, Mako wiping his hand on the edge of the tablecloth and wondering why exactly his heartbeat has sped up. 

It’s probably just this place--it’s got his senses going crazy. Dark, crowded, noisy, no visible alternate exits. If he had been on duty he wouldn’t have even let Wu come inside. He tries to push his nervousness aside, his instinctual desire to protect. He tries to focus on something else. Like Wu. 

He’s let his hair grow out some, wearing it long in the front like the guys in the pages of all the fashion magazines. It makes him look older. How old is Wu, anyway? Eighteen? Nineteen? Old enough to inherit a throne and abdicate it in the span of two months. 

What’s that like, Mako wonders, to be promised the world since you were young, only to grow up and realize it isn’t there anymore? 

“...Right?” 

“Hmm?” 

Wu pouts. “Are you even listening?” 

“...Uh…” He hadn’t been. He’d been staring. “Sorry. I’m a little tipsy. What were you saying?” 

Wu props his chin on his fist, blowing his bangs out of his eyes and grinning, sheepishly lopsided. “You are happy to see me, aren’t you?” 

He actually is, which is weird, because sixth months ago he would have paid any amount of money to get as far away from Wu as he could. “Sure. Of course.” 

“If I hadn’t come to save you, you’d just be sitting home. _Alone_.” Wu sips his drink airily.

“My friends are out of town.” The Spirit World is about as far out of town as you can go. “The Avatar is taking a vacation.” 

“Oh, yeah, I heard that.” He giggles. “Funny how your only friends are your brother and your ex-girlfriends.” 

“Yeah.” Mako picks up his brandy. “Hilarious.” 

-

It would be nasty to say it out loud, but over the next hour Mako learns that he prefers Wu drunk to Wu sober. Asami giggles when she’s drinking and Korra tries to pick fights, but Wu mellows, melts back against the crushed velvet seat, splays long fingers out on the table. He talks, rather than performs. 

“And there’s really no chance of you and the Avatar getting back together?” Wu asks. The conversation keeps coming back round to Mako’s relationship status. “What about that Future Industries dame?” 

They’re on their third round now and Wu is holding it better than Mako would have given him credit for, considering his size and constitution. “I already told you, I’m done with both of them.” And before he knows what he’s doing, he goes on. “With Asami, I always felt like an accessory. I mean--she cared about me, but I was still the poor boy she pulled off the street and dressed up to show off to her father. No matter what I do I’ll never measure up to her.” He finishes the last of his drink. “And with Korra, I never came first. Which, of course not. She’s the Avatar. Not even she comes first, the world comes first, I don’t blame her for that, but--” 

He is wallowing in the sudden wave of self pity so it takes him a second to realize that Wu has reached across the little table to touch his hand. Slender manicured fingers a shade darker than his own. Mako hooks his own fingers around them for a thoughtless second, feeling the smooth fingertips catch on the rough skin of his palm. He has a firebender’s hands--hardened and pockmarked with burns. He realizes what he’s doing and pulls sharply away.

Wu’s mouth opens fractionally. He leans back and rubs the same hand against his temple. “Hey, sorry. I wasn’t trying to--.” 

“It’s fine.” Mako isn’t sure what Wu’s apologizing for, or what he’s forgiving. _Wu’s drunk_ , he tells himself, _and you’re drunk_. Wu’s flush, his own radically quickening pulse, the low tension that threads the tiny, warm space. Easy to blame it on the drinks. Easy, also, to open his mouth and let the next sentence drift out of it: “Korra and Asami are together, actually.” 

Wu’s eyebrows pull in, then go up. “You mean, together like--.” He slumps back against the bench seat. “Wow. I mean...wow.” 

“Yeah.” 

A distant hollowness gnaws at Mako--he shouldn’t have said that. He doesn’t think it’s a secret, but it’s not his place. Shame, followed by a distantly smug satisfaction. Another thing to blame on the drinks. 

Across the table, Wu is still internalizing it, glassy-eyed. Mako gives him a second. “So they’re on a honeymoon to the Spirit Realm?” 

“They’re not _married_.” God, he hopes they’re not married. 

“Well, you’re better off without them,” Wu says, so earnestly that Mako almost believes it.

It is much more likely, however, that they are better off without him. 

“Hey!” Wu sits up straight so suddenly that Mako is halfway to reaching for a gun he isn’t wearing. “You should take a vacation too!” 

Mako swallows his pulse, which has leapt up into his throat. “Oh yeah? Where would I go?” 

“Ba Sing Se! You could stay with me! I mean--.” Wu sits back down heavily, and blushes, for some reason. “--If you wanted to. I could pay you back for hosting me for so long.” 

“My family did that, not me.” 

“Right. Right!” Wu drifts off into a description of the city in the spring, the cherry blossoms floating in the river, the festivals, the boat races. The concerts in the park that Mako very much hopes Wu will be a spectator at and not a performer. Mako is too drunk to follow the more complex threads of the conversation, and Wu is honestly too drunk to weave them. He ends up just watching Wu while he talks--the play of the candlelight on his throat, the slow, easy smiles. Wu...really likes his company, Mako realizes. 

It’s...nice. To be wanted. Everyone he knows would always rather be with someone else. Even Bolin, nowadays. 

He continues to think about it as Wu excuses himself to use the men’s room, looking at the tabletop, tracing his fingers over the grain of the wooden table. Mako is having a good time. And although he doesn’t think he could survive any real length of time staying with Wu, maybe he could use a vacation. His grandmother gave him and Bolin an open invitation, and train tickets aren’t actually _that_ expensive…

Mako gets so drawn into drunkenly planning out his trip that it takes a few minutes to realize that Wu hasn’t come back. Sick deja vu shoots into his arms and legs, rocking him up from the table, upsetting his empty glass and Wu’s half full one. _Shit_. He tears back the heavy curtain, the room lurching horribly to the side. He’s even tipsier than he thought. 

“Sir--.” The waitress puts out her hands to placate him, thinking he’s simply drunk and disorderly. 

“Police business,” he mumbles and shoves around her. He doesn’t even bother checking the bathroom--he knows better. It doesn’t matter that Wu isn’t royalty anymore--he’s still an obviously wealthy and highly inebriated kid. The softest, easiest mark. And here Mako had brought him right into the lion’s den, and then went and incapacitated himself. _Stupid_. 

Somehow, he manages to swim through the smoke and candlelight and the fog in his brain to find a back door, stumbling out into a squat alley. It smells like garbage and brine. A couple tottering steps is all he needs to realize his bet was good--human figures paint shadows up the alley wall. 

“That’s all I have, I swear!” Wu’s voice is a tight squeak. “Just the earrings! I don’t--I don’t have anything else!” 

“You got cash on you, doncha? Show us the money, kid!” 

“I--help!” There are two of them--one pressing Wu up against the wall, knife to the ball of his throat. The other is probably supposed to be lookout but he’s abandoned it to comment on Wu’s pretty mouth, and what he could do with it. Anger crackles up Mako’s spine. 

“Hey.” He focuses on not weaving while he walks. These two are just your typical slum mooks--probably not even aware they’re roughing up royalty. “Leave him alone.” 

“Who the fuck are you?” says the guy with the knife. “His boyfriend?” 

Mako drops into a forward stance. “I’m his bodyguard.” 

Not his best material, but he is not exactly in top form. When he bends he goes much harder than he means to, a hot, persistent gout of flame instead of a concentrated burst. Mako swears--someone screams, he hopes it isn’t Wu. Normally he wouldn’t even need to bend to take out a couple amateurs like this, but the world is moving around in little jumps. He’s swimming through the night air. 

His next punch is flimsy, and the guy’s counter gets him hard in the shoulder. His arm goes numb all the way down to his fingers. Not as bad as chi-blocking, but it still hurts. Mako knocks him with an uppercut to the chin, followed by a punch to the stomach. 

“F-freeze!” The other guy has his knife snug against Wu’s throat. “I’ll cut him!” 

Mako shakes his fingers out. “If you were going to, you would have done it already.”  
Wu makes a soft noise of pain. Something in Mako’s stomach clenches up but he keeps pushing. “You know the difference between a murder charge and a charge for petty theft? About fifty years. Do the smart thing. Take your friend and get out of here.” 

Wu’s sucks in breath and makes a dopey “yaaah!” noise, kicking at the guy’s knee. Either he has a lot more lower body strength than Mako’s been giving him credit for, or he hits a sweet spot. The mugger goes down. 

“Take that, lowlife!” Wu squeaks, a triumphant mouse, and then Mako’s grabbing him by the hand and taking his own advice. 

 

They don’t stop until they are three streets away, fetching up against a barrier wall, close enough to the docks to hear the waves slapping the wharf. The night air is somewhat sobering, but Mako’s vision is still moving in shaky ripples. He closes his eyes and breathes. 

“Are you alright?” he asks Wu from the dark behind his eyelids.

“I--uh, yeah.” Wu’s voice is tiny. “I’m okay. You--.” 

Mako opens his eyes and realizes that they have unconsciously mirrored the position of Wu and his attacker--Wu with his back pressed up to the wall, Mako crowded close. Wu’s hair is in pieces across his forehead, his earrings gone, his cravat half undone. Pink cheeks, mouth open and moist. Scarlet glimmers in a thin line across his throat. 

Mako feels another hard rush of anger. “The bastard really did hurt you! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called his bluff--.” 

“No, no, it’s okay.” Wu shakes his head back and forth, again and again. “I’m fine, it doesn’t even hurt--I.” He stops, chest heaving. “You saved me.” 

“Yeah, well, put me on the clock, I guess.” 

Wu laughs, a breathless wheeze, and throws his gangly arms around Mako’s shoulders. His eyes are brilliant with the run and intoxication, but he’s shaking, tremors transferring from his chest to Mako’s hands. 

Mako feels the exact moment when it moves past triumph and relief and edges into something else. Maybe it’s because they are already both breathing quickly, intoxicated, blood moving. Mako’s skin is alive from bending, fingers tingling against the tacky pull of Wu’s perspiration-slicked neck. Maybe it’s loneliness--it’s been so long since Mako’s been close to someone. Maybe it’s the way Wu smells--smoke and aftershave. The little dimpled quirk of his lips just before Mako kisses him. 

Wu is broader than Asami, slighter than Korra, and kissing him is nothing like kissing either of them. It isn’t the rough patches of stubble or the texture of his skin or the notable absence of breasts. It’s in how he melts back against the wall, how he abandons himself to the kiss like he trusts Mako with every part of himself. Mako pins one of his wrists to the brickwork, and he doesn’t struggle, just makes a soft, surrendering noise as the kiss opens up. 

_This wasn’t supposed to happen_. The thought wraps around him, threads in and out of his awareness, but he brushes it aside. This had been there all evening, hovering between them in Wu’s little glances and secretive smiles, in his insistence that Mako was better off now that he was single. 

He pulls back and cocks an eyebrow. “Was this a date the whole time?” 

Wu’s cheeks heat beneath Mako’s fingertips. “Took you long enough to catch on. I was dropping hints!” He jabs Mako in the center of the chest. 

Mako feels a tinge of consternation, but it is outweighed by Wu’s shudders as he strokes across the ball of his throat, traces the shape of his clavicles through his open collar. “Next time you should just tell me what you’re thinking, okay?” He isn’t a very subtle guy. Then again, he didn’t think Wu was either. 

“That isn’t very romantic!” 

Mako giggles. He sounds very drunk, but he feels good, fully awake for the first time in weeks. _Romantic_. The fact that Wu even wants that is so novel. Korra would have rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. 

It’s not like he’d wanted Korra swooning all over him. Okay, a little swooning would have been alright. But she had come in like a bulldozer and left him flat on his back. He’d never had feelings so volatile and complicated for anyone. Not that his feelings for Wu aren’t complicated. He had only recently started to like him, let alone...whatever this is. 

But whatever it is, it’s sending little shoots of warmth into the core of him, skin tingling in the open air. He nips at Wu’s lip, just to hear him make another desperate little noise. He is cupping Mako’s face in his hands, fingers satiny smooth. Wu has probably never had to do anything to threaten the softness of his skin. Mako doesn’t know if that makes him angry, or glad. If it makes him want to mark up that perfect skin, or protect it. 

“I have a hotel room,” Wu breathes in a rush. “Or we could go to your apartment. If you--.” Abruptly he lights up scarlet. “If you want to.” 

Mako is surprised to find that he does want to. Or, perhaps he is more surprised that he isn’t surprised. 

One thing’s for sure, Mako thinks, as Wu takes him eagerly by the hand and tugs him up the street. He’s going to have a lot to talk about with Korra when she gets back.

**Author's Note:**

> autoeuphoric on tumblr!


End file.
